Chapter 21 Chase
CHASE
It takes a two-hour trail ride in the national forest surrounding the farm before I come close to working through the feelings churning in my gut.
I should have gone to see my father once I decided to retire. I should have known he wouldn’t let the past rest without saying his piece, no matter how much I didn’t want to hear it.
I spend more time than usual brushing down Fancy after the ride.
She gives me some wicked side-eye over her shoulder as I run the slicker down her flank, then huffs a soft breath like she’s calling me out on my bullshit.
Maybe she knows I’m thinking about Molly and the shock in her gentle eyes when Dad and I did our usual thing.
“It’s better that I’m giving her space,” I tell the animal. “I don’t want to be like him, but he’s part of me, and I can’t ever take the chance of repeating his mistakes with a woman. Especially not Molly.”
I have a feeling my horse knows how much I want to go to Molly. To make sure she understands that the version of me she saw today isn’t who I want to be. But the problem is, it might be exactly who I am deep down.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you make a good therapist?” I ask, scratching Fancy between the ears just the way she likes. She leans into my touch, and for a moment, I wish things could always be this easy. But nothing is simple or straightforward when my father is involved.
I give the horse some hay and then head to my trailer.
I’m sweaty and sore and need a hot shower like my next breath, but I can’t imagine Molly will want me turning up on her doorstep after how I shut her out.
There’s a good chance somebody saw me squaring off with Dad in town, and both Ray and my sister have heard about it by now, which also makes me not want to reach out to either of them.
“Hey, Princess,” I say as I lower myself onto the sofa next to the sleeping cat.
She yawns, stretches, then gets up and moves toward me like she’s going to climb into my lap. I reach out to stroke her patchy fur, and she rewards me by swiping my hand.
“Ow. What the hell, girl?” I glance down at the scratch mark across my knuckle. “That was downright mean.”
She hops off the couch and heads toward the bedroom.
First Fancy and now Princess? I rub a hand over my jaw, wondering if I’m losing it to believe they’re giving me the not-so-subtle message to pull my head out of my ass.
I might be a slow learner, but I’m not a complete idiot. Usually, anyway. And I owe Molly an apology and an explanation.
I’ll go to the house to apologize and possibly shower, I tell myself as I gather clean clothes.
That’s all, though. As much as I want to forget this day by spending the whole night with her in my arms, it’s better for both of us if I pull back.
Say what I need to say and get out before I do something we’ll both regret.
Besides, I don’t think I’m strong enough to stay away. God knows I’ve never been good at denying myself what I want, and I want Molly with every fiber of my being.
Maybe I can keep myself from reaching for her—that’s a boundary I can honor. But just being in the same room as her calms me down, and I need that right now.
I’m not used to needing people.
The setting sun casts the farm in that golden hour glow that makes everything look soft around the edges as I walk from the trailer to her front door. The world feels still and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting to see what happens next.
Join the club.
The door opens before I can knock, with Molly standing on the other side looking like the answer to every prayer I never knew I was sending up.
“It’s about time,” she says as she takes me in from head to toe. She’s wearing loose sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt with a deep V that gives me a tantalizing glimpse of the top of her breasts. Her hair is damp at the ends, falling around her shoulders in fiery waves. “You’re a mess.”
“In more ways than one.” I notice her flushed cheeks along with a slightly glassy look to her eyes. “Are you drinking?”
“On my second glass.” She hops backwards, keeping the orthopedic boot off the floor. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“It’s five o’clock here.”
She smiles, and as usual, it completely undoes me. “I might have uncorked a few minutes early.”
“I’m sorry, Molly,” I say before I lose my nerve. “If you don’t want me here, I—”
“What are you sorry for?” she asks, hopping toward the kitchen. I follow because, let’s face it, I’d follow her anywhere. The kitchen is easy.
“I’m sorry for that scene with my father. I should have known he wasn’t going to let me ignore him forever.”
She points a finger at me, then grabs a glass of rosé from the counter and takes a sip. “You’re sorry for the wrong thing.”
“Okay, then.” I massage a hand along the back of my neck. “I’m sorry for whatever else you need me to apologize for.”
“Not good enough.” Her delicate brows draw down over those green eyes as she glares at me.
I want to smile, because she’s so damn cute when she’s angry. And while she might look like she embodies the ferocity of a butterfly on its first day out of the cocoon, I know there’s more to her. More than most people give her credit for.
“You should be sorry for shutting me out,” she says over the rim of her wine glass. “For thinking you need to apologize for your father’s behavior when you have no control over it. Trust me, I’m an expert at wishing I could have controlled the behavior of other people.”
“I’m sorry for that, too.” I don’t close the distance between us even though I want to. But letting me in more than she already has might make her sorriest of all.
“Do you know what I’m sorry about?” she asks as she finishes the wine and places the glass on the counter.
I blink. “You don’t have a thing to be sorry about.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry you believe you deserve how your father talked to you. Those things he said…” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry you’re so busy caring for everybody around you that you won’t let anybody close enough to return the favor.”
I bite down on my inner cheek when pain slices through me at her words. “I don’t need--”
“I know what you don’t think you need,” she counters. “But everybody needs something, Chase. Even you.”
Oh, I need something, all right. I look away because her words are knocking down the walls I’ve built around myself one soft syllable at a time. And if I truly let her in, it might drag us both under.
“I need a shower,” I say instead of answering her.
Her lips twist. “You know where it is.”
“Thank you.” I pause, watching her, then add, “Molly, you have to know—”
“Do not give me another lame-ass apology,” she interrupts.
“Did you just call me lame?” I clap a hand to my chest like she’s wounded me.
“I called you a lame-ass,” she says with a smirk. “I think that’s worse than lame.”
I nod. “I’ve been called plenty of awful things in my life, most of them by my father at one time or another. Lame is a new one.” I offer a mock bow. “Well done, and I’ll be out of your way in a bit.”
She nods, but I don’t miss the disappointment that flashes in her eyes. I hate that for her. I hate that I’ve done that to her.
“You’re not like him,” she says as I walk away.
The words rumble through me like the sound of distant thunder. It doesn’t matter how many times she tells me, they aren’t words I can believe.
“He wasn’t always that way.” I turn back to her. “The awfulness was always inside him, but my parents had moments of happiness. Dancing in the kitchen or laughing and making jokes. He loved her. Probably still does. Or at least what he considers love in that fucked-up mind of his.”
“Sometimes that makes it harder,” she says softly.
The tension gripping me unfurls the tiniest bit because she’s cut right to the heart of the matter.
“Yeah,” I agree. “The good times gave me false hope that it could be different, that he would be different. It’s easier when you don’t hope for something better.”
She scrunches up her nose. “At least the bad stuff and hard times are consistent. You can create a little shell that protects you. But those good times, they break through and…”
“It hurts more,” I finish, and we both know I’m not talking about physical pain.
“I’m sorry that you understand what I’m talking about, Molly.” I don’t bother to hide the emotion in my voice. “That the people who should have been kind to you and kept you safe didn’t.”
She dashes a hand over the tears that run down her cheeks. It takes every ounce of willpower inside me—and some I didn’t even know I had—not to cross the room and gather her into my arms. But I don’t.
Because I don’t trust myself to be able to let go when she needs me to.
I still feel dirty and dusty, and not just because of the work and the ride. The poison that spewed from my father is still on me, and I don’t want it anywhere near Molly. So I turn away and make my way up the stairs.
I’m almost done showering when the curtain flutters, and the air in the steamy room shifts.
It goes hotter and thicker and I hold my breath, waiting for her to join me.
Only nothing happens, and I think maybe I imagined it.
Maybe it’s just me wishing and hoping for a chance I was never meant to take.